Thorns
by AScytheToDieFor
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis had always loved roses. Thorny, mysterious, difficult to understand. Hurts to touch, hurts to love, hurts to hold. And beautiful. "Thorns make people bleed, Sebastian. They make me bleed. I bleed. I bleed every day and I bleed every night." Rated T for an angst overload. Oneshot, Seb/Ciel if you squint.


**My first story! I'm so happy...yet embarrassed to put this up. I hope it doesn't get any hates.I wrote this lovely piece a while back. It's only about 2K, but it took me a while.**  
**A message for Amberstar of Randomclan- don't laugh, love, or I will barbecue you.**

**That's all I have! Thank you for taking the time to read this FanFic!**

**Warnings: This is rated T for angst. That's pretty much it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler by Yana Toboso. I wish I did...**

Sebastian Michaelis had always loved roses. They symbolized everything he loved about his demonhood, and everything that he was. Thorny, mysterious, difficult to understand. Hurts to touch, hurts to love, hurts to hold. And beautiful. Achingly beautiful, a beauty that holds within it something much more powerful and dark, like a vibrant sunset giving way to the night sky.

The young master kept a garden in the courtyard of his home. It was nothing compared to the garden at the Queen's Palace, or even the gardens at some other noble homes, but it was filled with many fragrant blooms. Sebastian often tended to the garden for two reasons; the gardener was absolutely inept at his job, and he sometimes hid his cats and kittens among the bushes, one place the proper young earl would never tread.

His young master's favorite flowers were sterling silver roses. They stood out among the dahlias and chrysanthemums and lilies of the rest of the garden, a sort of ethereal magic allowing them to glow in the early morning sunlight. They were lovely, like any other rose, but had thorns to match the beauty. Long thorns, as well, protruding to at least a centimeter. They lined the stem like birds on a tree branch.

Every once in a while, Sebastian received an order from a particularly happy version of his young master. The earl would ask for a dozen sterling silver roses that he may place in a vase for his office. Requests like this usually came when Ciel Phantomhive had solved a particularly difficult case, and he felt the need to spruce up his workplace. Sometimes, after winning a good game of chess, or coming out on top in a game of pool, he would ask Sebastian for his favorite roses. And the butler would comply.

He went through a very specific procedure when preparing the sterling silver roses for his young master. The faithful servant would peruse the garden for the twelve most perfect roses, flawless in everything. He would gently remove his white satin gloves and pick them at the base of the stem, where they would attach to the larger rosebush. Sebastian would gather the roses in a cloth and bring them to the kitchen, making sure that not a single petal had fluttered to the ground. He would set them with great care on the counter, unfolding the cloth hammock they lied in.

He would then pull out a sharp knife. One by one, carefully and gently, and taking care not to fold the stems of the roses, he would pluck out each thorn, one by one. He would pull out a bowl, discarding each one of the needle sharp objects as he pulled them. When Sebastian was grooming his young master's roses, the flowers used up every iota of his strength, his energy. He was devoted to their utter perfection.

One one fine afternoon in February, Earl Ciel Phantomhive sent his footman, Snake, to notify his butler to pick some roses for him. The earl had recently finished wrapping up a twisted, cruel, murder case, and he needed something to distract him for a little bit. The utter dejection and despair he had felt after seeing those people, lying so still, ceasing to breathe had shaken the young teen, and spurred some very dangerous thoughts that he wanted to get rid of immediately. He needed something of beauty, so what could be more beautiful than his favorite roses? Yawning sadly, Ciel began to address the remnants of his paper work.

Sebastian, after receiving the message, began to go about his rose-plucking routine, every step meticulous and precise. He picked the blooms, dethorned the blooms, and placed the blooms in an antique crystal vase to accentuate their flawless beauty. He picked up the vase, and began his walk towards the young master's room.

He had stopped in front of the door and was peering through the peephole to see if his young master was present, when he saw something that thoroughly confused him. Ciel sat at his large oak desk in a big armchair that was way too big for him, as per usual. But this time, his head lay on the desk. Sebastian heard the young master let out a sigh of defeat. The butler gaped. His master always covered up emotions, or at least the "meaningless" ones, like despair, and sorrow, and love. What made him so upset? He vowed to find out. If the little earl was upset and he had not fixed it, what kind of a butler would he be?

Sebastian knocked, rapping his knuckles softly on the door. He saw Ciel straighten himself through the window and put on a poker face. He called to his servant."Come in, Sebastian." The butler complied.

He strode through the doors and bowed, crossing his right hand over his chest while holding up the vase with his left. "Good afternoon, young master. I have brought what you requested." He gestured to the flowers.

Ciel sighed again. "Yes, please leave them at the corner of my desk."

Sebastian placed the flowers, turned, and began walking towards the door, but almost hesitantly. He still wanted to figure out what was bothering his young master, but he did not want to upset the boy further by lingering in the room. He was about to leave a resume his butler duties (however reluctantly), when he heard Ciel speaking to him.

"Sebastian?" The young earl asked.

"Yes, young master?" The demon in question turned to face his master.

Ciel had gotten up out of the oversized armchair. He stood in front of the desk now, looking intently at Sebastian's prized pick of sterling silver roses. He stared for a second, as the butler watched expectantly, then moved to pick up one of the roses. He held it in his tiny pale hand, turning it over a couple of times, then examining it as he held it between his pointer finger and thumb. Gingerly, as if he was afraid of it. Almost scared.

Sebastian was frozen still, waiting for the boy to speak. Ciel looked like he had aged a few years as he began to speak. "Sebastian, have you ever wondered if everyone has a motivation for living? After this latest murder case, I have wondered this of myself. I am still young, only thirteen years old, yet I have no family to speak of, besides the Midfords. And even they are distant, and uncaring, and they only need me so I can wed their daughter and spread my business' fortune. I have made a contract with you, a demon, to achieve my goal of revenge. Revenge against those who scorned me and killed my parents, killed my will to live. I am driven by nothing but hate and anger and passion, Sebastian, but is that really enough? I feel like I have no will to live, and perhaps the world would be better without my presence. As important as I am, I am a single man. The world might mourn me, the people might grieve, but they would eventually go back to their circles and motivations and their own wills to live. They would not die themselves. But ever since my parents, a single man and woman, died, they have left me as a shadow of myself. Sebastian, revenge is sweet, like a sugar cookie, perhaps, but isn't it more of a Devil's Food Cake?"

He looked pointedly at the devil himself, who looked shocked that Ciel was opening up this much to him. So this was why the young master looked so glum, gloomy. He had lost his motivation momentarily, he felt like nobody needed him.

Ciel made no move to stop his self reflection. "My life seems a lot like this rose, Sebastian. It's shiny, silver, and it appears that way to everyone, doesn't it? I appear as the polished, cold earl who is lucky with his business dealings and such, but I am a miracle. I am a child, therefore I am a miracle. My life appears beautiful, like the manor, like Funtom, like you. It's seemingly perfect...until you get to the bottom. The stem, the root of my life, is like the stem of the rose. Always thorn covered, obscuring the actual stem itself.

This rose, I'm afraid, is a scam. A hoax. It cannot protect itself without it's thorns, and now it has no purpose but to be a pretty face. Will I be like that someday, Sebastian? With this utter depression, without my thorns to protect my and spur me on, will I become a pretty face in this world of hoaxes and tricks and scams? And even more importantly, have I lost my thorns yet? I feel I need them. Yet…

Thorns make people bleed, Sebastian. They make me bleed. I bleed. I bleed every day and I bleed every night, I bleed as I remember my past and I work through the present. I bleed when I know that one day, this life that I have made to distract myself will end. This life is almost pointless, almost fruitless, without a use. One day, I will bleed for real as I lose my life to you and to my revenge, demon. And I would gladly give you my life for that revenge if I still had that vengeant spirit inside. If I still felt the thorns pricking me, I would gladly give my very breath for the vengeance. But the thorns are no longer bleeding the vengeance out of me. So I have no will to go on. What do you feel, oh bane of my existence? Or should I say, my very existence itself?"

Sebastian, to say the least, was nearly shocked to death. His young master was at an age so tender and young. He should not be thinking such thoughts, such horrible and depressing thoughts, such dangerous and dark and demented thoughts. He should be a happy young boy, playing games and laughing and enjoying his family. Instead, the Earl Ciel Phantomhive was a frightened young boy who felt that he needed a purpose, who felt naked in this world. He played games, but they were twisted, sadistic games of death and torture and pain. He called upon a demon, a devil, a spawn of hell to do his bidding. He had no family who truly cared about him, and he held up a constant facade so he would not have to admit that he did love them when they were not deceased. It was all so sad, so terribly depressing and horrifying, that it hit Sebastian's heart hard and put a sour taste in his mouth. Even though the demon was a master of sadism himself.

Ciel was growing impatient as Sebastian tried to control the mess of thoughts that swirled through his head. He needed the demon to answer, now he was feeling like his very own servant, whose compassion was ordered, did not care for him. One more thing to add to his growing list of disappointments in life.

"Sebastian, answer me. You must answer my question, this is an order."

Sebastian snapped out of his tormenting thoughts. "Yes, my lord. I-" Before he could begin to speak, the young master cut him off again. "Sebastian, tell me your true feelings. I must hear no lies from you, understand?" Sebastian nodded in assent.

"Young master, you have a purpose. You have a point to make in this human world, and I believe that the point will be made. You are simply growing impatient, for the revenge is not coming at the ease and pace at which you want it to arrive."

Ciel was infuriated. Was the bloody demon trying to undermine him, calling him an impatient, impudent little child? Heavens knew that he was much more than a child. No child had suffered like him, no child had died inside as many times. No child had bloodthirsty thoughts of revenge, EVER, and no child wished the death of another. He was not a child, he was a monster. And to suggest that the flame that previously lit his breast, the spark of revenge that kindled the flame of his life was not extinguished, was still present and scorching, when he did not feel it burn anymore, was outrageous. He was nothing, Earl Ciel Phantomhive felt like nothing, and his butler should have agreed. But there he was, standing there and offering the earl his advice, as if he was superior.

"Do not patronize me, demon!" Ciel shouted suddenly, startling his butler. Sebastian jumped back a few inches, shocked at his young master's sudden outburst. The young boy thought his butler was trying to control him, implant ideas in his impressionable mind, did he? Sebastian was surprised at the earl's paranoia. He was not trying to come across as the boss, as the MASTER, he was simply trying to calm the boy down.

"Young master, you misunderstand me. You misunderstand my purpose. I am not trying to undermine you, my lord. Listen to me. Everyone has a purpose, everyone has a reason to keep on living. Right now, you have lost sight of your inspirations, lost sight of your aspirations. The thorn still pricks your sides, young master, you have just become numb to the pain. Feelings of hate and anger have become routine for you. They have become normal. You need a change of scene, perhaps, a break from the rut. Then perhaps the bird of your existence will be in sight again. The thorns are ever present."

His master was still standing, but quivering, shaking. Ciel's back was to his faithful servant, as he trembled, trying to collect himself. A single tear slipped down his pale, thin cheek, and he let out a small choking sound. Sebastian, for once, was unsure what to do. Should he comfort the boy, or let him handle the storm that was destroying his heart?

"Sebastian Michaelis, you have been more than a faithful servant to me. You have been there to execute every of my plans. You never lie, Sebastian, you complete every task I set for you without fail. You have died, died so many times for me. And you are the most interesting partner when I need a rousing conversation. Yet, you are a thorn. You are pricking me, pushing into me, slowly squeezing the life out of me. And one day, you will bleed me dry. I suppose I love you, Sebastian, in the most beautiful and twisted way. For you are my servant, you are my pawn, and you have given me this horrid new life I detest. Thank you, demon. And what have you to say for yourself? When you acquire my soul, the gem of your desire, what will your purpose be? You insist I have one, insist you have one, yet when you leave I will leave. My purpose will be extinguished, like the fire I fail to feel. As will yours, as you partake in a feast of my soul. But that time is far from now. I need to know the present, not the future. What motivates you now, Sebastian Michaelis? My most loved, most hated, thorn?"

The demon saw his master, back still to him, choking on his own tears. He was spilling his heart out, yet his servant failed to give him a reply that would appease him. The butler felt like his heart had dropped into his stomach, plunging into a pit of eternity.

He contemplated his situation. Sebastian supposed that he did love the young master, after all, he put up with everything the young earl requested. He had grown fond of his little rose- for now that he thought about it, Ciel Phantomhive was a rose.

He was beautiful and tragic, He was strong and stood tall (or as tall as he could manage), and did not yield to the pressure of others. His petals concealed the bud of his inner beauty. And he had thorns. Magnificent and large thorns, sharp as shards of glass. The thorns that everybody saw, the prickly, hard exterior that made the earl hard to touch.

Sebastian Michaelis had always loved roses.

"What motivates you now, Sebastian Michaelis? My most loved, most hated, thorn?"

"You, young master. You."


End file.
